


Damsel in Distress

by Lady Angel (dameange)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameange/pseuds/Lady%20Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No mere wolf could carry off Chris Larabee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damsel in Distress

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I went into this story thinking that it was gonna be one way, but my muse decided to take it in a totally different direction. After Phyllis pointed it out to me, I thought I would have to do a massive rewrite. But reading this again, I like it so I'm keeping it. As for the title . . . it's an oxymoron in every sense. {eg}

Vin Tanner's held up fist halted Nathan Jackson and JD Dunne in their tracks. The tracker knelt, sensitive fingers and eyes tracing several sets of tracks.

"Vin?" Nathan's barely audible whisper floated through the still November night. Sunset was a few hours ago, but the remaining six men wouldn't stop until they found their team leader.

"Three sets of tracks," Vin spoke into the mike clipped to his wrist so that the other half of his friends could hear as well. "One looks like some kind of wolf carrying somethin' heavy. Two sets of boot tracks, one taller than the other."

"No wolf could have carried off Chris." Buck Wilmington's deep voice came across clearly disbelieving. "And two men couldn't take Chris on and win either. Even with a pet wolf."

"Said it look like some kind of wolf, Bucklin, didn't say it was."

"Well hell."

Vin let his lips lift just a bit before focusing on his surroundings, gauging a possible destination. "Buck, y'all head towards those caves a mile west from your current position. We'll meet you there."

"Roger."

"Vin?" JD stepped closer, blue eyes filled with anxiousness. "What did you mean they're wolf-like?"

Vin pulled the young man down, motioning Nathan closer as well. "See how it looks like a paw?"

"The top half," JD nodded, brow furrowing beneath the Boston Red Sox cap he habitually wore. "But the bottom of the print is wrong."

"Too elongated," Nathan murmured, tilting his dark head this way and that. The black man inched forward towards his friends and the print to take a closer look.

"Yeah." Vin's burnished head jerked up. He motioned for silence before moving forward noiselessly. Moments later, he stopped, crouched behind the cover of bushes, the others mimicking his actions.

"What d'ya mean you lost the trail?"

"It's a little dark, asshole."

Vin carefully studied the two men in the clearing, the full moon clearly illuminating them both. One was indeed taller than the other but he could still see the family resemblance between the two of them. They had to be between his age and JD's and they held their weapons like those who had been properly trained. Movement, barely the glint of moonlight on a sliver of skin, alerted Vin to Buck and the others across the clearing.

"Don't take your frustrations out on me."

"Will you stop with that psychoanalyzing bullshit, college boy?"

"Dean, we gotta get to that guy before the wendigo makes dinner out of him."

"Well, duh!"

That did it for Vin. Signaling Buck to wait, he rose, knowing Nathan and JD were right beside him.

"Uh, Dean?" The taller of the two young men kicked at the one still crouching on the ground searching for tracks. He wisely held up his arms, still holding the sawed off shotgun, but by the barrel. "Dean!"

"What the hell, Sammy, first you want," he spun up to his feet only to freeze at the multiple guns aimed at him. His eyes widened, then narrowed. "Please God, don't let this be like Deliverance."

JD chuckled and Vin smirked.

"We don't want to hurt you," Nathan promised, his deep voice resonating through the fall air.

Vin thought it was just like Nathan to reassure their captives of their safety even while he held a gun on them. The man was an oxymoron like that: using the knives he had strapped to his back as both weapon and an instrument of healing.

"Then why don't you put down your guns?" The shorter, Dean, suggested.

"Sorry," Vin flashed a half smile as he drawled out the apology, "not until you tell us where our friend is and who's got'im."

The two guys looked at each other, obviously trading messages with their eyes.

"We don't know you you're talking about," Dean finally answered.

"He's blond, in his forties, and dressed all in black." Nathan described, trying to nudge them into telling the truth.

"Probably mad as hell and tellin' you about it with his eyes," Vin drawled lazily, causing muffled laughter to come through his ear piece as well as beside him.

"No, sorry." The taller one, Sam, shook his head slowly, brown bangs flopping back and forth.

Tanner barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. They were terrible liars. No, actually, they would have been believable if they weren't carrying guns and had just been overheard. "So the wendigo doesn't have anything to do with this?"

Josiah Sanchez's rumbling curse came through Vin's ear piece, but it was the two strangers' reactions that intrigued him. After a miniscule second of surprise, their faces fell into nearly identical lines of confusion.

"A what?" Sam asked.

Vin shrugged, he had given them their chance. "Tie'em up and take their weapons," he ordered.

Predictable, they brought their weapons to bear.

"Don't think so," the one called Dean declared.

"Think again," Buck countered, jabbing his rifle into the guy's leather clad back. The mustached man loomed over the much smaller Dean and was nearly the same height as "College boy Sammy."

"Hell, all right!" "Sammy" surrendered his weapon to Josiah, barely glancing at the almost equally tall man. "I'm Sam Winchester, that's my brother Dean. We were tracking the wendigo but were too late to help your friend."

"What exactly," Ezra drawled from his position of covering Josiah and Buck's back, "is a wendigo?"

"Basically," Sam answered, "it's a cannibalistic spirit that looks kinda like a werewolf."

The two of them were clearly shocked when none of the six scoffed at Sam's claim.

"Wait a minute, you're not surprised?" Dean demanded. "You believe us?"

Vin shrugged a shoulder. "We've been tracking it, the prints ain't the same as a wolf's."

"Plus," Buck smirked at his friends, "we know Chris."

"Yeah." JD chuckled, teeth flashing white in the moonlight. "It's gonna take more than a wolf or some guy to take Chris down."

"Especially with his children in danger," Josiah added gravely. That ripped the levity from the atmosphere.

"Where would this wendigo take Chris," Ezra asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Usually they prefer caves," Sam answered, looking to his brother as he took up the explanation.

"We tracked it here, but lost the trail." Dean crouched back down to study the ground.

"Forget the tracks." The Winchesters stared incredulously at Vin's pronouncement. "We know where it's heading." He took point, knowing that the others would not only follow his lead, but watch his back as well.

"You know how to kill this thing?" Buck asked, motioning the two of them before him, leaving him and Josiah to take up drag. The ATF agent carefully studied the shorter of the brothers.

"Yeah," Dean returned the assessing look.

"We want Chris back." Buck held the sawed off out to Dean. "If you can help, we'd appreciated it."

The surprise, this time, lasted on both of their faces.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Our pleasure." Sam gave a hesitant smile to Josiah as his gun was returned as well.

"Let's go." Vin's voice drifted back to them.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
Sam Winchester found himself behind Dean, who was behind the one who had eventually introduced himself as Ezra Standish. In front of and behind him, Sam could barely make out the sound of the other six men. He couldn't believe so many could move so quietly, let alone those really tall men in the back. He was so use to towering over everyone that it was a bit of a novelty to him to be able to look someone in the eye without tilting his head down.

The men around them moved and worked together like the gears of an Italian sports car. Tanner communicated with them all through military hand signals, so they had to be ex-military, but other than that, there was nothing he or Dean could gleam from the men as they traveled in silence. Well, other that they were clearly hunting for a missing member of their family. The intensity of those around him reminded him of Dean when they searched for their father.

Soon enough, his musings came to an end as Tanner signaled a stop.

"What?" His brother's question was cut off as Dean automatically reacted to Tanner's gesture for silence. The man then pointed to his ear.

Sam strained to hear, finally picking out the muffled sounds of flesh hitting something substantial. He also heard the . . . cursing? He was startled by the muffled laughter from in front. Before he could ask, Tanner moved, Dean right on his heels.

His jaw dropped as they neared an opening in the bush. The full moon illuminated a blond man, bloodied but on his feet, and giving as good as he got to the wendigo. The other men ringed the fighters, but made no move to help or stop the fight. Stepping forward, a hand stopped him.

"Leave him." It was the one near his age. Dunne, he thought was the guy's name.

"He's gonna get killed," he hissed back.

Dunne smiled mischievously, echoing earlier words. "You don't know Chris."

Since all the others, including Dean, seemed content to just watch, Sam subsided and did the same. It only took moments to realize why: the man was lethal. Larabee was utterly savage as he attacked the creature, barely defending himself because he never gave the wendigo the chance to attack. There was not an ounce of fear in that body. Sam stared at the man, sensing nothing but pure unadulterated rage.

How long the fight would have gone on, Sam didn't know, but it came to an end when Tanner threw a huge bowie knife near his friend's foot.

"Hey, cowboy, I'm getting' hungry. Supper's waitin'."

That was all it took. Larabee dived to the side, grabbed the knife, and rolled to his feet once more. He let the wendigo charge, only to slam the knife in hilt deep. The creature went down but was far from dead.

Larabee spit out what had to be blood before turning to stalk out of the clearing. He paused by Tanner. Sam was startled to see the feral gleam in the man's eyes.

"Kill it," he ordered.

Tanner nodded before turning to Dean. "Your turn, boys."

Dean didn't need anything more, unloading several shots into the wendigo. As it always did, the body disintegrated. The other men watched with interest for a little before turning to follow their leader.

Sam glanced at Dean, unsure as what to do next. They had absolutely no idea where they were in relation to their car. His brother shrugged.

"You guys comin'?" Dunned waited for them at the edge of the clearing. Wilmington had his rifle propped against his shoulder, obviously waiting as well.

"Uh," Sam shrugged when Dean caught his eye.

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered, making the decision.

He followed his older brother, really hoping that the Deliverance part of the evening wasn't starting.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
As they reached the tree line, Dean was surprised that Larabee never faltered once during the trek. He was also surprised no one said anything either. Needless to say, he had been impressed by the man's skills. Dean hated to say it, but the lean man probably could have held his own with his ex-Marine father. But he was never telling anyone that. Ever. On pain of death, he wouldn't admit it. As it was, that had to be the easiest hunt, hands down. He silently snorted. Now they just had to figure out where they left the car.

"Look out!"

Dean barely jerked Sam out of the way of a black, rearing, roaring demon, automatically aiming.

"Diablo!" Larabee stalked towards them, grabbing at reins Dean barely noticed, hauling on them to direct the rearing horse away from vulnerable heads. He and Sam watched as Larabee first controlled, then soothed, the big black. Lowering his gun, Dean released his breath. That certainly got the ol' heart pumping like the wendigo didn't.

Soon enough, the seven men were mounted on horses he hadn't noticed until now. He blinked at the hand offered to him.

"C'mon," Tanner urged.

"What?" Dean eyed the hand, then the rider, then the horse warily.

"You boys have somewhere to go tonight?" Sanchez asked, kindness tingeing his deep voice and the bright blue eyes that shone in the moonlight.

Dean thought about the rubbery, cold overall nasty fast food they had abandoned in the Impala. He glanced over at Sam, who shrugged. "No, not really."

"Then come back to the ranch with us," Jackson formally invited. "We've got a huge Thanksgiving spread." White teeth gleamed against his dark skin. "More than enough."

"And we'd like to thank you boys." Wilmington nudged his horse over. "Least we could do."

"We really didn't do anything." Sam looked as surprised as Dean felt.

"You killed it," JD announced. "We didn't have anything but regular bullets, so they wouldn't have done squat against it, right?"

"It probably would have returned," Standish mused. "You gentlemen did us a service by ridding the area of such a creature. As Buck said, a meal is the least we could do to thank you."

"Ah," Dean glanced at Sam to make sure, then grinned. "In that case, thanks. We'd appreciate it." He grabbed Tanner's hand, pulling himself up behind the tracker.

Sanchez nudged his horse closer to Dunne's, who was helping Sam up behind him. Dean smothered the chuckle at the picture in front of him. Sam towered over most people, but with him sitting behind the short JD Dunne . . . well, towering was the *only* word possible.

Sam definitely heard the chuckle anyway because he sent Dean a withering look. He beamed innocence at his brother.

Wilmington, on the other hand, had no problems whatsoever. He guffawed loudly when he caught sight of Sam and Dunne on mounted on the same horse. "Damn, boys, talk about extremes."

Dunne glared his friend, but Dean could see his lips twitching. "Shut up, Buck. It's a good thing we aren't all be hulking behemoths like you, otherwise Sam would've walked the whole way back to the ranch."

Snickers echoed through the night.

"Let's go, boys." The six men simultaneously wheeled their horses around at Larabee's soft words and followed unerringly in his wake.

For the most part, the ride was silent until Jackson rode up. "Where d'y'all leave your car? We'll drive you there in the morning."

Okay. Looked like they were staying the night too. Of course, when he saw the cheerfully lit and extremely large ranch house, the idea started getting better and better. The seven men directed their horses into the barn. He and Sam had been in here mere moments after the wendigo had taken Larabee. They had stayed in the shadows only long enough to make sure the two blond boys had made it safely to the house before taking off after the father. Though, if they had realized that the victim wasn't going to take his kidnapping lying down, they could have saved themselves the trouble.

Falling into step with Sam, he glanced at his brother, seeing the look on his face. "Problem?"

"Nah. Not really." Sam shook his head, but was still studying the other men as they wiped down their horses. "They're taking this really well."

"Yeah, surprised me too."

"You're not worried?"

Dean shrugged a single shoulder. "Far as I can tell, they're not like those wackos that kidnapped you and tried to hunt us, so they're all good to me."

Sam didn't get a chance to respond because Wilmington clamped huge paws on their shoulders. "I'm starving, let's go in, boys."

"Buck," Dunne smirked at the older man. "Didn't you polish off one of Inez's pies a few hours ago?"

"Boy, savin' Chris worked up an appetite," Wilmington declared, grinning widely under his mustache.

Larabee snorted, leading the way out of the barn.

"Didn't do much savin', Buck," Tanner drawled, loosening his shoulder length hair from its confines as he followed Larabee out.

"And these boys," Sanchez shouldered Wilmington aside to wrap his arms around Dean and Sam's shoulders, arms easily encompassing them both, "dispatched that creature straight to the depths of hell." His grin was so wide and happy that the brothers had to return it.

"I must wonder, Mr. Wilmington, in light of all the evidence to the contrary, how the past scant hours could possibly 'work up an appetite'?" Standish strolled leisurely beside them, dusting off his rather nice jacket.

"It was the worry," Wilmington shot back, completely at ease admitting it.

Dean was impressed and a little weirded out that the other men simply nodded and left it at that. Glancing at Sam, he saw his own look mirrored. They exchanged tiny, helpless smiles.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
"Don't even think about it, Chris."

He glared at Nathan from his bent position over the water-filled horse trough. "I can't go in like this."

Nathan grudgingly nodded his agreement, but was compelled to add, "If you get an infection from dunking your open wounds in still water, don't come crying to me."

Chris smirked, splashing the water over the bloody wounds, knowing that no matter what Nathan said, he would always take care of them.

"Don't worry, Nate." Vin's smirk was wider than his own. "You can hold'im down while Alex gives him the shots."

Nathan and the others laughed. Chris scowled but it quickly faded as he pushed open the back door to his home, the scent and sounds of his family washed over his bruised body. Although his kitchen was large by comparison, it was still filled to the brim. As usual for the holidays, everyone had gathered at the ranch so his home was bursting full with the parents, wives, and children of his men. Even Ezra's mother was able to make it this year. When he had left with Billy and Michael to feed the horses, the house had been filled with laughter and talking, but now, a strained silence had fallen.

"Christopher!"

His father's exclamation jerked people from their tense reverie. Chairs scraped as Chris was surrounded by his family. He let himself slide into his father's arms, grinning as the old Army general gently pounded his concern and relief into his back. "I'm fine, Dad."

Marcus Larabee pulled back, shrewd eyes assessing his words. A gruff pat on the check and a soft grunt conveyed his father's approval. "What happened?"

"I'll tell everyone over dinner." Chris searched the room again, smiling reassuringly at everyone, but didn't see the ones he wanted. "Mary? The boys?"

"In the living room," Orrin Travis answered, holding out his hand.

Chris clasped it with his own, returning his superior and the closest thing he had to a father-in-law's smile. "Evie with them, sir?"

Travis nodded. "And Alex and Julia."

"Thank you, sir." He made his way through the rest of his family, hugging and kissing the women and children. It took quiet a bit a time. Finally, he was in the family room, but he paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of his wife and sons. Michael was cradled in Mary's lap, Billy curled in between his mother and grandmother. Billy saw him first.

"Daddy!"

He braced himself just in time to catch the twelve year old. Chris held on tight, ignoring his battered body in favor of hugging his stepson tight, grateful he was all right. He was surprised Billy was calling him "daddy," but the boy had a habit of using the name during times of crisis. He had heard it being screamed by both boys when the wendigo had appeared in their barn.

"Chris, I--"

"Shhh." He could see the guilt in the boy's eyes. In the few seconds before the wendigo had dragged him off, he had seen the indecision in Billy's eyes. Torn between helping his stepfather and getting his younger half-brother to safety, Billy had finally chosen to grab the screaming Michael and ran. Chris knelt, hands firmly wrapped around Billy's shoulders. "You did the right thing, son."

Billy sniffled, but nodded. He grabbed Chris' hand, leading him towards Mary.

Chris smiled at his wife. Her smile reflected relief, love, and a reporter's curiosity. But the wife and mother part of her, as always, took precedence. He tasted relief and love in her kiss before he pulled back to look at his son. She tilted Michael's head so that he could see his father.

"Look who's back, baby."

"Daddy," the six year old murmured, sluggishly holding out his arms.

Chris gathered the boy into his arms, frowning the question with his eyes.

"I gave him a sedative," Alex answered, leaning back into Vin's arms. Her medical bag sat opened at her feet, giving testimony to that fact.

"He was a bit hysterical." Mary pulled Billy into her lap before leaning into her husband's one arm embrace. "He said a monster grabbed you."

"One did." Chris could see the surprise in his audience's eyes, making his lips twitch.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
Sam didn't think anyone's family could be more happily dysfunctional than his own. After all, in what other family did a dad hand a nine year old a gun when he asked about the boogeyman? Well, it was apparent the Winchesters had nothing on the extended Larabee clan. "You guys actually believe you're the reincarnation of gunfighters from the Old West?"

"Well, when you put it like that." JD rolled his eyes, but his grin grew wider.

"Actually," Ezra wiped the corners of his mouth, placing the napkin back in his lap before continuing, "we are the direct descendants of a group of men from the nineteenth century, to whom we also bare a remarkable resemblance."

Sam glanced around the table. They were all smiling but the smiles weren't of the "gotcha" variety. And honestly, he didn't think a US Army general and a former federal judge, now ATF assistant director, was going to go along with such an outlandish joke. "Okay." He helplessly turned to Dean, who to his immense annoyance was too busy stuffing his face to see the look.

"It's all right, son." Josiah patted him on the back. "It takes a little getting use to."

Sam nodded but turned when his brother snorted.

"We fight demons and poltergeists. Reincarnation's not that big of a deal."

Sam rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dean to simplify it like that. But his brother's observation seemed to break the silence as conversations started all around the table. At one point, Sam found himself debating law with the Judge and Ezra. He could hear Dean talking to Vin and, surprisingly enough, Inez, Buck's wife, about guns. Hours later, after they had pitched in with clean up, they followed everyone into the family room. He had a glimpse of it earlier, but appreciated the rustic hominess of the huge stone fireplace, the overstuffed chairs and the thick rugs that covered the hardwood floor. Sam found himself sprawled against a bunch of oversized pillows with a beer in one hand. Dean was next to him in a mirror pose.

Everyone else was scattered about the room, conversations waning and waxing. Soon enough, couples and children began to drift off. Finally, it was only the Winchesters and the Larabees in the room. Sam blinked from his drowsy slump to find Chris crouched in front of him and Dean. Crystal green eyes studied them both.

"Thank you for helping me," he said simply.

"You're welcome, sir."

Sam was utterly shocked at Dean's tone. He had only heard it before when Dean spoke to their father. But then again, the man in front of them was a lot like John Winchester.

Chris turned, grabbing pillows, blankets, and toiletries all piled on top of one another. "The bathroom's the first door on your left, next to the kitchen. The couches are comfortable as hell." He handed them everything. "You boys sleep well."

They took the items, murmuring their thanks. They watched as he left the room, booted heels echoing as he moved about the house, checking doors and windows it seemed.

Sam claimed the larger couch, but in truth, both couches were big enough that they were comfortable no matter what. He figured with a family that huge they would probably come in handy. As he settled into the pillow, he turned to his brother to see Dean grin at him.

"Great Thanksgiving."

Dean's chuckle would be the last thing Sam heard before slipping into sleep.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
Chris glanced once more at his guests before finally moving to his bedroom. Mary already laid curled up in the king size bed.

"Are we ever going to have a normal holiday?"

Chris snorted, sitting down on the bed to take off his boots. "When hell freezes over."

She laughed, he grinned at her over his shoulder.

"Are you going to write this up?"

This time Mary snorted. "Only if I want to work for the National Inquirer the rest of my life."

"We would back you up," he said, only to think about the people who actually saw the animal: two drifters and an entire ATF team known for wild antics. "On second thought."

Mary laughed.

The End


End file.
